


Adventures in the Wizarding world

by Pikkulef



Series: Original characters and their original stories, not all well fitted together [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, mention of various Harry Potter characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikkulef/pseuds/Pikkulef
Summary: I just... had this idea of a Harry Potter AU with my OCs.They are the same, just adapted and transposed to the wizarding world.I think all the answers to any questions you could have are in the text, if not, you can ask me, whoever is reading this !





	1. The Present

_A real mystery beater_

_Many famous people have weird quirks, but the Holyhead Harpies’ second beater’s must be one of the most unheard of yet. Ginny Weasley’s (Harry Potter’s wife, for the ones who were living under a rock all this time) team-mate Diane Scherrer could just as well be a ghost. A ghost who would be very good at Quidditch, and very good at disappearing when not playing. The short, swift brunette is the most elusive around the pitch, and outside of it, she virtually doesn’t exist. People know of her, remember her from her years at Hogwarts - yours truly has come across saucy details from her teenage rebellion years, which will be developed further in this article -  but no one seems to know anything as to her current whereabouts. Faithful readers will know this writer’s tenacity in her quest to uncover truth; and yet, there was nothing to be found. But you will know, of course, that this will only feed this writer’s curiosity, and that this is only the beginning of the enquiry. What we do know about this slippery beater is that she was born the fourth daughter to pure blood parents Albert Scherrer and Penelope Bellchant, whose tragic death just as she started her studies at Hogwarts (house Gryffindor) might have lead Diane towards -_

“Shithead. By the way, could you please stop taking this extremely irritating voice when you read the paper?

“Skeeter’s articles need to be read in Skeeter’s voice. I don’t make the rules.”

Diane shook the newspaper to smooth the page, keeping her reading to herself, now. Skeeter had invented her an interesting relationship with Neville Longbottom at Hogwarts, whom she had absolutely no memory of, being 4 years older than him. Diane drank her breakfast tea. In the corner of the page, one of the rare pictures of her people could get their hands on was flying on a broomstick and waving Britain’s Quidditch cup. They had won the year prior.

At the other side of the table, Desden was eating scrambled eggs. He shook his fork, speaking with his mouth full.

“You’re gonna have to make a public appearance one day or another. This will only get worse.

“Mh-hm.” Diane drank more tea and bit into a toast.

“Go get a drink somewhere. Have a pint at the Leaky Cauldron. Visit the Three Broomsticks for old time’s sake,” He felt around for his cup of tea and took a sip. “I don’t know, do what you want, but you need to be seen.

“Mh-hm.”

Desden put down his fork, concerned.

“Do your friends know?

“No one knows.

“Does Ginny…?

“Ginny’s not my friend.

“You’re one of the most famous Quidditch players in the country, and the first one is married to fucking Harry Potter. And you play together. People love you. You should be friends. At least that’s what people might think.

“I don’t like people. I think I have that in common with her.

“You shouldn’t be hiding that much.” Desden got back to his eggs, ate a mouthful, then finished, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s suspicious.

“I’m trying to protect you.” Diane got up, walked next to Desden and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “And my private life. Key word is private.”

She put on her jacket.

“I’ll be out until 6 or 7.

“It’s Sunday…

“Training. Duh. Be careful if you go out, there’s a cat roaming around the house. It’s been there a lot this past week. Don’t let it sneak inside.

“And how am I supposed to do so, without seeing it?

“Says the man who was deemed the best Charms student of his generation. It’s a tabby, just ban all tabby cats, so ours can still get in. See you later.”

She disapparated with a soft “pop”. Desden finished his breakfast, then fished for his wand in his shirt pocket and walked towards the front door, trying to remember banishment spells and to how to tweak them to adapt for a tabby cat.


	2. The Past - Battle of Hogwarts

They had followed after the man who had been their boss, the young and the not so young, experimented or not, their wand at hand, to protect this last symbol of what the old days had been. The good days. 

  
Desden would have been recruited as an Auror, if the people from the Order could have had their say into it. But muggleborns were already frowned upon when they came to him.    
He had committed himself to becoming a healer, right after he finished Hogwarts. He was studying for his final exam when Hestia Jones had knocked on his door, waving his old Charms grades and a letter from the hand of the Professor Flitwick. They needed good, reliable Charm and counter-curses experts and, apparently, he had been deemed one. Especially reliable as he was already being pushed out of the Wizarding world, one little law after the other. 

And now he was there. Out of a job. To try and save his old school. And more than that. 

 

Before leaving the Room of Requirement they came in through, Desden stopped. 

“You think we’re going to die?” Farid appeared on his side, looking back at him. His old friend was tired, his eyes sunken, a three day old beard on his ashen face.    
“I think you look like shit.    
“You’re eluding the question.    
“Better not to know, right?” Desden shrugged.     
“I’d rather not. Die, I mean. We’re too young for that.    
“Talk about the babies fighting there. Children. All of them.    
“Yeah. And I have my own at home too. I’d like to see them grow up.” Farid made a pause. “Yet, here I am.”    
Desden had a sad smile, and Farid smiled back at him. They hugged each other, only briefly, as at the other side of the room, Shacklebot, his low voice booming, lead the party out and into battle.    
“Ready?    
“I guess.” 

 

It was calm at first, yet soon they found themselves in a mess of smoke, sounds and spells crashing on every wall and column, exploding against and shredding the paintings, hurting or killing people on their sides. Desden tried to step back and heal what he could - he may not have passed his exam, and would not have been allowed to anyway, but if he could help, he would. 

 

There were too many he couldn’t do anything for. As they marched on, the fear, a tight knot in his chest, grew heavier and tighter. And colder. He was not prepared. They were not prepared. He might die here, and for what? Wouldn’t it be easier to just turn around and go back to being a Muggle? But there was Farid ahead of him, his friend who had left home two children - his own nieces, and their mom, his sister - to come and fight. Who was he to leave him alone? He had to carry on. And protect him.

 

They advanced from corner to corner, crouching behind half demolished statues, yelling at each other, words that got lost in the fight. 

 

The floor was trembling from the fight outside - giants, no less. As he was stuck once again in his progress, protecting himself at the foot of a staircase from someone casting dangerous spells, Desden looked out the window, driven by the big forms waving their arms and makeshift weapons through the battle fog. 

 

What he saw there would never be erased from his memory. A bright red and gold silhouette, so tiny in front of the two giants, was flying about, taking sharp turns, fluttering around the massive moss covered arms, making the creatures angry. Desden squinted, a bewildered smile on his face. The silhouette was wearing Gryffindor Quidditch robes, and had tied a Gryffindor banner to the tail of her broom, the lion roaring at every turn. They were diverting the attention of the giants, as some people on the ground must have been doing something. He couldn’t see from there. He couldn’t help but scoff. This was definitely Gryffindor behaviour, there was no debate. But, as he looked on, with that crazy one doing loops and dangerous curves right under the enormous noses, it was also giving him strength - the fight wasn’t done, but if they all put in as much guts as this one did, maybe it wouldn’t last too long. He reverted his attention back to the spell caster at the other side of the staircase, cursing back and counter cursing, and eventually made his way up the stairs, where Farid had vanished a couple of minutes earlier. 

 

He was on the ground. Motionless. 

 

“NO!” Desden let out as he leaped towards his friend’s body, making himself a new target for the ambushed Death-Eater at the end of the corridor. He crouched on the ground to avoid the very bright green spell, that left a dark mark on the wall behind him. There was no mistaking this one. Wishing with all his will that it was a different spell that hit his friend, Desden, keeping low, blindly cast back a few Stupefix as he could, and dragged Farid with him to one side of the corridor, half crouching, half crawling, his heart pounding in his chest. The other wall had now disappeared, leaving a gaping hole, torn open by either another spell or one of the giants’ bludgeon. Desden found some relative shelter in the rubble, and tried to get some signs that Farid wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He had to protect him. He couldn’t be dead. He had children. 

 

Desden took in a deep breath. Farid was breathing. Faintly, but he was. Crouched, squeezed against the wall and in between the corridor and his friend, Desden wiped his eyes. There was hope. He got to work, in a frenzy, trying to see what was wrong, what had happened, and if there were things he could do right there. There was blood on his temple, from a deep cut. But he couldn’t yet tell if it was what had rendered him unconscious. 

 

Everything happened very fast. There was an explosion, a yell, a spell cast behind him as he was bending yet again over his friend, then another yell, with a high voice, and the sound of a spell bouncing over a magical barrier. He couldn’t do anything but try to protect Farid’s body under his. Then, silence. 

 

Close, very close behind him, someone was standing. He wouldn’t dare turn to see them, but could hear their ragged breathing. They were trying to steady it. For a long time, they just stood there. Desden felt the fear pile up in his chest, swallow his hurriedly beating heart. 

 

And then they talked, with a low voice :   
“It’s okay. I don’t think there’s anyone left there. I’ll protect you if so. I’m not good at much, but barriers are my thing.”   
Desden slowly turned his head as much as he could, looking up. In the smoke and dust, he could only make out a red form at first. Red and gold. And a broomstick. Then the form made a step or two so they were right above him, hand extended. A short woman, made to look stocky by her Quidditch uniform. A long, disheveled dark braid hung on her shoulder, and her face was covered in soot. Under his eyes, she tore off a piece of the Gryffindor banner on her broom, now a dirty rag, and wiped her face with it - spreading the soot rather than getting rid of it. Her eyes, a reddish brown, looked almost red. 

 

A goddess. War personified, gently helping him back on his feet. He couldn’t find words to say to her. He shook his head, trying to think straight. It was the shock. He’d seen himself die there.    
“That man. He is dead?” She was pointing towards Farid.    
“He’s not. I need to bring him somewhere safe. I had the time to put spells that will keep him stable, but -    
“The Great Hall. I hear they’re taking all the wounded there. I’ll escort you, it’s not that far. So you can lift him up. I’ll cover you both.    
“You would do that?” 

 

The man looked at her with both pleading, and bewildered eyes. They were a dark, interesting shade of blue, and were the sole lively part of his face, his skin made bone white by dust, as well as his hair. Yet under the dirt, she felt she had seen him somewhere before. She was good at faces. 

 

She nodded. 

 

The corridor was still calm and empty, the relative silence only broken by faraway cries or rumbles. It felt as if the barrier she’d built before was still up and separating them from the rest of the battle grounds. As she helped him gather his friend’s wand and bag, she stated:    
“You were that Hufflepuff prefect.    
“I… Yes. I was.    
“I remember you,” she said, with a smile. “I hated prefects. Avoided them all the time. But you were the chill one.    
“I wasn’t a very good prefect, no. Didn’t care much about my duty.    
“You cared more about my team mate. Mary -    
“Stillweather, yeah!” He laughed, but she could see some red under the white dust on his cheeks. “Never worked out, I’m afraid.    
“You were always by the Quidditch field -” 

 

Desden saw her duck as a spell flew by, and did the same, predicting another was on its way - it was, and disappeared through the open wall. The woman grabbed his arm and tugged towards a corner, but he wouldn’t leave Farid.    
“Just so we can retaliate! We’ll come back when we’re rid of that one!” That was a weird mix of a hurried whisper and a yell, but she was right. He followed her.    
It was only one man, a slim, black robed Death Eater, without a mask to hide his aging features. He had never seen that man before. An old sorcerer who didn’t want to meddle with mudbloods, as there were many. But he didn’t have much time to reflect, and as soon as the Quidditch woman had cast her barrier, he sent a Stupefix that hit his target. 

 

Desden wished he had something more than Stupefix to fight with. 

 

“We should go. Take care of him, I’ll go first.”    
Desden went back to Farid without a word, lifting up his limp body with a spell, taking care of judging the height at which he was floating to avoid bumping into things. The woman, in the front, was looking intently at him, waiting for a sign they could get going. He nodded. 

 

Their progress was slow, more because of the crumbling building than because of Death Eaters in their way. They didn’t cross many. It seemed the battle had recessed. They didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t have time nor will to talk. Only one of them stopped them for a long time, but as they were fighting back, another team from their side appeared from behind and took care of the dangerous wizard. They, too, felt like the battle was nearing its end. The grounds had come suddenly quieter. 

 

It was as a group of ten or more, with total strangers, some teenagers in the school’s uniform, some badly maimed, some looking like they were ghosts, that they entered the Great Hall. 

 

Automatically, Desden’s eyes went up to the magical skies, as he was doing every day when he was at the school. Not so much to check the weather as the overall mood of the school. 

It looked weird. Low, dark, and… it was raining. He had never seen the Great Hall sky rain before. 

As he squinted, incredulous, someone took his free hand. And squeezed, hard, not letting it go. He looked down. 

 

The tables and benches had disappeared. The grounds were covered with people. He saw blood. Dirt. Black liquids oozing from terrible wounds he would avoid looking at in books when he was a student. Some people were screaming, wailing in pain. Some were moving on their makeshift beds, taken by some kind of fit of unknown origin. And so many, so many were dead. He swallowed, but his throat was so tight. This couldn’t be true. 

 

The woman, who had looked fierce and ready to fight still a minute ago, looked rather ready to cry. She was breathing hard, her hand crushing his, her eyes fixed on the bodies laid by. He looked at Farid, gently floating horizontally over the ground,still unconscious, but decided to give back her help. He bent a little - she was so small, or him so tall - and gently shook his hand off hers, placing it on her shoulder, almost hugging her.    
“I’m going to find a place to lay my friend down, and then I will come back, okay?”   
She looked at him, trying to keep her countenance, and nodded.    
“I’ll have to take care of him and offer my help. I’m a healer - well, a student still, I guess. They need me. But I can stay a minute with you if you want. 

“No, go. I’ll find my way back and try to bring more people. The fight. It’s over. Do your job. Thank you.”    
She briefly hugged him back, then weaseled out of his arms and walked briskly out of the Hall. 

 

Desden turned back to his friend, and walked in the opposite direction, trying to find someone he could stop to ask where they could find some room for him. He did not see her again. 


End file.
